


Lemonade

by ASignificantWhisper



Series: Summer Nights Are the Best [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Masturbation, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 05:00:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7253452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASignificantWhisper/pseuds/ASignificantWhisper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You just like the way Jerome Valeska sips that lemonade. Summer night's at Haly's circus are the best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lemonade

**Author's Note:**

> I edited my ass off on this. I hope it's good? I haven't written Jerome, or anything really, in so long. Ugh, lol. I tried and I'm pretty proud I was able to write something this long. It's a little different. Has a lot of dialogue, more wordy. Jerome is mostly canon. Enjoy! Comment and kudos are much appreciated if you liked? ;) 
> 
> Find me here at my Tumblr wroteclassicaly.tumblr.com (when will I learn how to link this?)

**_Lemonade_** , you tell yourself. That's all this is. Your unconditional desire knows no bounds for the cold drink that the freckled digits hold. You watch in a blissful trance, each drop of moisture from the plastic cup - become a sprinkle over his skin. Then it's gone. Just like that it can be gone. You lick your lips as if you can taste it. He swipes it clean, much like you've seen him do with his sleeves over his eyes when he thinks nobody cares enough to be around, hoping, probably praying to a god he can't believe in, but doesn't know what else to do - for something to change, for his pain to go away. _No_ , you backtrack, he's too far gone for that.

You're not a fool, not a bumbling little adolescent around here like the gypsy girls, the daughters of the workers dub you to be. You know that Lila Valeska's son isn't this crippled little puppy. Not anymore. And he hasn't been for a long time. That look, oh you can practically engulf it with your body heat at how it seethes to suit him, especially when his mother's back is turned. You're aware of just what he wants to do to the cold hearted bitch. But nobody else is.

You share a secret grin with yourself, pinching the straw of your Coke between your lips, swiping the lipstick stain off the plastic with a quick thumb. Can't look away for too long or you'll miss your stolen gazes at the ginger over the rims of your knock off Ray-Ban's. His tongue darts out before his lips wrap around the striped straw. The muscles in his neck flex with a bobbing Adam's apple to accompany the last sip that has him finishing off his sugary treat. He tosses it without a care, it landing in the grass only to be met with a wedged shoe from a circus going customer. You get lost in the moment, watching the now crinkled cup stick to a passing round amongst different shoes trampling over the worn grass.

A sigh passes through your lips, your own cup making that rude sound to snap you straight out of trance mode. You'd finished your soda in your creepy staring duration, apparently. Rolling a camisole strapped shoulder, you discard your empty drink into the trash can nearby, the bees and wasps already rolling in to nip at the remains. You admire the biting insects briefly, thinking back to how Jerome's plump lips looked around that straw. How they too, are most likely swarming it. Unafraid, going for their carnal drive, taking, tasting what draws them in. In a brief confidence high you catch with a breeze guided on summer air, you think that this is it. This is the day you can swarm Jerome Valeska too, see if you can attain the attitude of the wasps and just go for it. Go for that aching need, that absolute want. To settle on his skin, touch him, taste him without being afraid to be smashed with a reality that he couldn't possibly want you.

You're sweating, you know you are. It's in the 90's, air so stale with humidity that you can gag on it. You yearn for the summer nights that permit you to see your breath with each little exhale.  _Mhm_ , and when they accompany a burning Marlboro propped in between your fingers. You grant yourself with a much needed fresh inhale, the stands nearby wafting cotton candy, candy apples, frying food, cinnamon, powdered sugar directly into your nostrils. When your eyes open you see the auburn haired Jerome coming your way. He's got a piece of hay flicking absentmindedly in his finger's pinching grip. The music booming out across the speakers held by metal poles, that connected the lights to each game and food stand - serve as a montage to Jerome's presence.

You need to thank whomever was in charge of the tune docking today that you have this steady instrumental beat, helping him glide over black cords, sidestepping people, his left hand mashed into the faded black jean pocket, white t-shirt riding up his waist to let you glimpse that taunt, pale, freckle dusted skin. Yeah, yeah you've stared more than once. Being on the road with Haly's for years now, your adoration of the snake dancer's son isn't a new thing. The white fabric moves in motion with Jerome's steps. It's as if he's coming directly for you, your focus like those movies with a narrow zoning. You don't know whether to sit down or give into the urge to press a finger to your teeth, needing something to bite down on just to release a little raw craving you obviously have for him.

Your heartrate spikes, forcing the beat to thrum against your back, making you feel as if you'd skipped a flight of stairs. You welcome the nauseating butterflies the closer Jerome gets. Those green eyes with long lashes shading the sun's glow. _He's here_. You're suddenly hyper aware to the strappy sandals covering your feet, your glossy black toenails wiggling to be shown off. A brief wind picks a few tendrils of your hair, stimulating your scalp, peppering your flesh with goosebumps. _Here he comes_. Fixation finds your tongue sliding across your teeth. You're actively ready to assume that Jerome may also be heading elsewhere, so you plummet off the edge before your self-doubt can take hold.

 _His hair is so red. Then it's a loud bleach blond? No. Shit!_ You skid to a halt, about to apologize, embarrassment coating your cheeks, but the girl is already bumped from the motion, blocking your view, her wrist snapping, twisting her drink through the air, dousing you and your new sundress with a cold, sticky substance. It feels as if the air around you is silent. Some people snort, most ignore, a few giggle in juvenile amusement. It's not them that you give two fucks about. You're trying to peer around them to see if he saw.

"Watch where you're fucking going. Now I have to get a new drink, and I'm not keeping my ass in that line behind all the smelly lard fucks. I think my dad's dog has more poise than you. Obviously, it's a good service to mankind that you're not wearing heels, cause' what a tragedy that'd be."

 You observe your feet laying comfortably in the flat sandals, to the choppy peep toe pumps tapping inches away.

"I know, right?"

Another voice, a tinge of chocolate brown hair, a pink manicured hand waves in your attention again. The swarm is approaching, the trash can stirring with overflown food. You're covered in whatever fruity drink the bitch had, so you're distinctly one with that buzzing sound. It reminds you that you can fucking sting too. You can still take what you want to.

"You actually also came out of nowhere, so perhaps you wearing said back alley heels is a more higher disgrace to us all, just sayin'." You smile is even sweeter than the artificial shit now air drying to your skin.

Self-satisfaction. Silence from the girls. Seething looks of astonishment.

You did it. _Now, for phase two-_

"Oh my god, lets get out of here!"

You swipe the air with splayed fingers to keep the bugs at bay. In the distance you can hear the two tone laughter echoing. The second you're sure your eye won't be attacked by the ass end of a yellow jacket, you step away from the crosshairs.

_Bravery, yeah right._

Your eyes are bitten with sharp, unwelcomed stings. Your gut takes a trip to your toes and back up, pulling your heartstrings with it, knotting your insides to the point instant nausea settles in. The blonde is whispering, laughing, her arm linked through Jerome's now. He's to the far right, letting the girls carry him off. Your lips slide into a quivering pout, everything suddenly too crowded. Dejected, you watch them walk away, glancing down to assess the damaged fabric. You blink rapidly, wiping an angry hand at your eyes.

_No, I won't cry over this. Not them. Not this. At least, not here. Not here. Fuck._

Maybe it's the tent, the shadows playing through the flaps in the small picnic patio area you are currently under, but you look up to see if you can still see them and you can. The girls are cackling, thinking he's listening, but he's.... He's not. His neck is straining, his head turned, his eyes set dead on you. It's a curious look, you think. _Right? It's real_. You share it as the song plays through to its delicious end, your chest heaving.

You scurry to see through a gap with two middle aged men as they stand to discard their food. All you know is that the red hair disappears from your field, and from the blonde and brunette's radar. You turn in a swivel, dress fanning out. Your fingers clutch at your chest, your pulse jamming in throbs against your cradled wrist.

**~*~**

Evening had littered the sky in a pastel kit of colors, which quickly gloss over the vibrant grounds with night air. You watch the last Gotham citizens flow into their cars, the bulb string lights standing out all around you. Everyone inside the circus has packed up, the vibes are settling into afterhours. You figure it's time to go home, see if you can nab some dinner or scrounge up enough change to hail a taxi into the city for a large pizza.

The walk it takes to get to your nestled trailer back near the small pond and little brush field isn't long with your usual weaving detour. What you don't expect to hear so abruptly, is a loud moan, followed by a few slack gypsy curses. _Was that.... Felicia_? The belly dancer that helped you make your currently scrapped dress you would attempt to save later? You shouldn't, you can't. Your not so caution friendly sandals carry you to the side flap of the orange and cream tent. Your knuckles crunch under the shaky grip that has you pulling aside the tent's edge, kneeling down as not to be seen. Your eyes, not aware they're in for a shock this rousing, are greeted by a full view to a spread out, raven haired gypsy on her arched back, and a man you've seen help Jerome's mom with Sheeba, her snake. It's the handsome assistant - Felipe. Italian, blue eyed and gorgeous.

His back muscles tighten, his hips snap so hard you hear him collide against her flesh.

 _Walk the fuck away_. You grit your teeth, willing yourself. It's as pointless as trying to reign self-control when you want to come, when that feeling is right there inside you. You're powerless watching the two engage. She's crying out, hands gripping white knuckled to the mat bed she lay on. The candles are bright around the tent, giving you an echoing view. You close your eyes at his husky, drought out grumble, telling her how good her sweet pussy feels. Your legs sway open, the night air choosing that moment to sweep in and stimulate you, resulting in you feeling how slick your panties have gotten.

It's so wrong to watch like this, getting this gratified, this pent up, this.... jealous. For you, you see a different pair of eyes, a different body on that table. Licking the flame, the candle flares, taking your thoughts with it. You see the pair of eyes you envision. So green, so wide. You roll your shoulders, squirming as if your back is shaping on that table. He'll tell you, tell you how sweet your cunt is. Because he is vulgar, he is ruthless. He is sweet like sugar, but he is bitter like a cinnamon chained current.

Your eyes widen at the strength Felipe uses to flip Felicia, lifting her to her knees. You gasp, licking your parched lips. Jerome would definitely do that to you. He would be the type, you know it. So assertive, so authoritative, so fucking free. You would trust him too, welcome him to do it.

Succulent noises are fleeting to twist your attention. The flap slides closed, you stand up, caught. There's no one around though, is there? You laugh under your breath, hugging your arms to ease yourself. Your skin feels draped over you, burning you with a warning urgency to have something.

 _Almost home_.

Except the universe has reminded you that you have this thing called hearing. You swing around, literally paralyzed as a squeak is tugged from your lips. On the other side of the tent, now standing in your sights, is Jerome. The lights are enough to entice his frame, his lush hair. He says nothing, letting you notice that his fingers are holding onto a cigarette by the filter - where the hay was hours beforehand. Jerome brings the nicotine to his lips, the cherry burning bright against an aggressive hit. Your breath rasps your now open lips, the fog dancing on the crisp, cool humidity. You see it float above, catching into a tangle with the smoke, the ghosting puff from Jerome's mouth, fading away moments later.

 _So much for bravery_.

**~*~**

You're well on your way away from the steady look, unable to stand it any longer without exploding. Your thighs burn, your pussy throbs. It's a mini marathon steam rolling your body, welcoming you into your trailer. The door slams shut, your back collapsing against it. You can't think, you can't even see the cabinet panels in front of you. The patterns are jagged. Your mom is gone. Always out late after a show. Usually never home unless to get ready for the next one. You don't mind it. It gives you your independence, your space. Unwrapping your sandals, you toss them down the hall. Your bed out in sight, your mom the one who got the bedroom she rarely ever used. You move to it, situating the pillows at the foot. You're already jumping into your routine, going the extra mile to help you work out your impatient adrenaline. There's about four candles lighting up the front of the trailer by your bed when you're finished.

Giving one last glance around the trailer to check your lonesome status, you step to the plated window by your bed. At the foot you move to stand, pushing the lock away, cracking the glass open. Your skin is greeted with a swirl of cool, summer night breeze. There's that music again in the distance, wavelength echoes, louder. Everyone from Haly's is starting after dark hours. The time to let the tricks from the bag. Time to indulge in things sole property of the summer nights. An electric guitar rifts your sights over the way to try and see the Valeska's trailer.

It's saddled with one soft light. _He's there_. Your eyes are softening, glazed over. You let a hand caress your side, pushing at your breast, fingers dipping under the camisole straps on your dress. Defiance backs you tonight, permitting you to have a smirk that has you working the zipper pressed to your back - down. You find your eyes filtering back to where Jerome's home is, resuming to raise the thin straps, you let the dress drop, it pooling at your feet. Your nipples react to the breeze, hardening under the feather light, air bruised kisses. You stroke one, then the other, backing away from the window, collapsing with a pulsating rush onto your bed, letting the music, the arousal guide you to a place where Jerome can give you what you need.

**~*~**

_(Jerome's POV)_

She is so quick, so vapid. The little minx got off on watching the gypsy whore and the Italian rut together like two animals. Interesting day for her. Her clueless vibrancy is alluring, fuck. I'm in tune with the music, comforted by it as I'm bold enough to follow her. Everyone else is busy doing the disgusting things they do. Pathetic creatures of habit. My night, it can be interesting with her. It's pretty lame to crouch in the weeds, her trailer lit with this fragrance she must bring to it. Her slut of a mom must be off taking the dick of some carnie. Maybe she's double ended with Lila? Fucking bitches. How can they turn something that's supposed to be so normal, so fucking good and taint it with shame, with painful idiocy?

Not me. I know what I want, I know what I like. Hearing the sounds she made watching the goody fuck nuts get it on, it was enough to pique my interest in her again. It's not like I haven't seen her around, wandering, looking at me. Some nights, I fantasize about her congratulations for my slicing Lila's throat open, only for my hand to close around her windpipe, dusting it, because she can't be alive to tell, even if she knows, even if she sees me. And that's what drives me to follow her, to wish I had the willpower to wrap my hands around her pretty little neck. She sees me. Not what I let everyone else see, not what I want her to see. It's stripped. It's scars, it's blood, it's revelations. It's me.

I haven't seen her with anyone, much to my displeasure at how victorious and at ease that makes me feel.

Knocking would be the perfect element of surprise, I ponder with the idea.

Wait. Is she....? This tickling heat flares inside my stomach, coiling around the front of my jeans. She's up in the window, her dress disappearing, her breasts are washed light by the moon's reflection. Her skin is so soft looking, silky. She touches herself, looking. Where, where is she looking? What is my girl thinking? I lift to gain insight, twisting my head in a side sweep, eyebrows raised as I see the trailer I live in with the bitch, lit by one dull lamp - become her target object in sight. She smiles and then she's gone. I hiss, clambering slowly to the front end of the trailer. Luck be on my fucking side.

I raise myself up slightly on the bumper perch, the window above the trailer's kitchenette is wide open. It's too perfect. It's.... I see her there. Laying over her quilt, she's traced by the biting candlelight, but perfect to indulge in by view alone. Her shape bends, twists, then lays back flat again. I watch her breasts, her fingers twist the buds that I need to leave my marks on. I lick my dry lips, salivating in overtime to help me catch my breath. Her belly tightens each time she breathes, her hair is disheveled around her. My hands clench the crumbling painted window seal to get a closer, pressed up look. She spreads her cunt apart with two fingers, her other hand wiggling her fingers through her slick heat.

I'm ravenous, looking down at my cock that's swelling against the denim. I'm weak right now, fucking falling apart and only she can piece me back together. The little slut.

I have to go. This won't be a simple thing. I'll want more, I'll need more. I know I'll have to be inside her more than once.

The crickets are a mere annoyance now. Everything dries into a halting screech.

I'm blinking until my vision blurs in attempts to see if I can match what I'm now hearing over everything. Over that daunting music, over the night that surrounds this forsaken sewer of a circus lot. I crane my posture just right in time to hear the slurping sound all throughout the trailer, painting the night with her cries to match. I listen again, uncomfortably smashed against the outside wall. No mistaking the sopping wet sound that anchors me to this spot, to the raw tightness begging me for release. Dropping down, I let my needs take me over, walking along the grass with a wide grin. She's wet for me. Her cunt drowning for me, and I'm about to wreck her.

Picking the trailer lock is easier than I thought. It's eye rolling how easy it lets me in. Hmph, no challenge. Oh, well. The door creaks a little behind me as it clicks closed. No problem. She's facing away from seeing me. It gives me everything I can ever want in the moment. Her body is writhing over the covers, skin doused with desperate perspiration, nipples so fucking hard they could match my cock in close pressure. Then again, I give myself a mindful squeeze, stifling a groan as the bitch picks that moment to wail out in pleasure.

I have to be cautious so not to spook her. If she runs, I'll have to do the same. It's rather nerve wracking, if I do say so myself.

The fridge is barely running. Cheap ass digs. I'll have somewhere, someplace better than all this someday. Everyone will see.

I find what I'm looking for in the spurring moment her moans raise an octave. My position to maneuver this isn't ideal though, so I discard myself from the sweat soaked clothing, letting it drop on the peeling linoleum. I bang an outstretched fist on the fridge in a momentary lapse of forgetfulness - in the wake of the rude squelch her rubbing causes. Perching the ice cube between my teeth, I make my way into her open bedroom, my heart ramming against my ribcage.

She isn't aware, all too consumed and greedy in devouring her own pussy. It's rather cute to watch her struggling with trying to push fingers inside. I cluck my tongue against the cool shape. Still so blissfully unaware. Time to show her. Sliding onto my stomach to get me on the bed, I'm kneeling over her after I do, dropping the ice cube onto her stomach with parted lips. It's a sight for even the blind to awaken to. Her reaction is immediate. Her body intakes in a swell, alarmed, she lets out a shaky shout, our eyes locking. Uh-oh.

**~*~**

_That's not warm. What is...?_   Alarm bells are static hurricanes, giving you a sensatory overload, combined with the downpour of your unanswered orgasm overtaking you from speech capabilities. What you see in front of you the moment your eyes open, isn't a figment. It's not a daydream, a slumber sequence.

"J-" You stop yourself, beginning to tremble, your body falling prey to the violent goosebumps.

Jerome raises a finger, drawing the ice cube down your navel, circling your hot skin. You look for his green eyes. They're a mere ring. Caved into the dark black that you know has your own caged alike. _Want_.

"Go on, say it. Pretend like I'm not here. Put on a show for me," He rasps, descending right between your thighs.

So exposed, so vulnerable. You're surging, body short circuiting in a race to catch up. Jerome is in control, just as you always pictured. He's tilting his head, regarding you thoughtfully, licking his lips expectantly. He knows. You don't know whether to be ashamed or proud? To feel sexy or humiliated? He doesn't leave you much a choice though, as you suspected he wouldn't.

"I'll even provide the games."

He licks a long stripe down the valley of your breasts, the cold cube following him like a puppy dog at a heel for scraps, melting on your skin like a pathway of footprints to an iced over lake. The cold water drips down your body, battling the winning heat. In the atmosphere, in your body. It's clouding all common sense, bulldozing your hesitation apart. Apparently, however, your answer isn't quick enough to soothe Jerome. A sharp smack scatters the slippery arousal across your thighs, you arch unintentionally into the painful biting hand. The rather large hand. Heaving a deranged sigh, you face a look at the now griping boy with a heaving chest. His green eyes are so dark, pupils a thick black charge, leaving no room but a thin outer circle of green.

"You're not doing what I said, Y/N. I promise I'll make it fun," Shivering violently, the cube eases lower. "Think of it...." _Right fucking there_." As a better game than the ones the circus offers. The prize extravagantly sweet.

Let me make it sweet for you. Wouldn't you like that?"

There's something clinging to his tone that derails any anxiety you have left. His features hold this warmth that maybe later on you'll think you've imagined. But not now, not here within the confines of this trailer. Surrounded by candles, music, summer air and Jerome Valeska, you can take on anything. So you let go. Let yourself fly with bold fingers reaching to push that rogue, melted h2O path down over your sex, getting off on just knowing Jerome had it in his mouth. You whimper wantonly, back arching to a bend that you weren't even aware you had in you to make.

Yet again you're not prepared for the surprise that comes with your crush's motives. Jerome swipes your hand mid-air, bringing your fingers past his lips, sucking them in. You protest lightly at his abandonment over your promised game. His mouth feels incredible. Your right hand leaps to close around your breast, fingernail scraping your nipple for something more. You're not even afraid he'll scold you.

Jerome breaks his ministrations to take you in. "Awh, that's a good fucking girl. S'this make you wet? When I talk to you like this? When you feel my lips on you?"

"Jerome, fuck, I--"

"Isn't this fun, sugar? How I stop the water from getting to your cunt? Like a game. And I'm the winner."

"Always, you will be," You cry out upon his tongue circling the last chunk of the ice cube into a melting heap right above where you want his mouth the most. Your body quivers, muscles taunt with a deep flex.

"Does this feel alright to you, doll? Hmm? Acting like my little slut, my pathetic groupie."

"Yeah, god, yeah, Jerome. I've wanted it for so long." It slips out, your hand freezing on your chest.

 _Great. What a fucking dork move. Here we go_.

Shock isn't something you're used to so much anymore, not around Haly's circus. You're pleasantly thriving to find Jerome looking mildly affectionate, surprise of his own. Gratitude that you outright said it? It's gone quickly, Jerome's posture stifling down with it. He slouches right in front of your open thighs before you have the time to get a good look.

"Gonna lick your pussy now."

The game has finished, much like you want to. Your head pushes into your mattress below so hard your neck begs you to let up. No one has ever done this to you before. Maybe a half-assed fingering from your only hookup around here. A guy you went on a few dates with. Ring master's son. He couldn't provide you with any substantial experience for future partners, to which you'd be lying if you hadn't been thinking about Jerome being said partner you sought it out for.

"JESUS, FUCK! JEROME, BABY!"

A deep throaty chuckle to the pet name, parts high pitched cry, Jerome licks a slow circle around and around your clit to spread all he can. He's selfish with an amoral need to take you all. His tongue leaves your clit, your hand slaps against the back of his neck, nails digging the nape. He urges you with a tossing of your leg by bent knee around his shoulder. His mouth slithers down your sex, that soaked tongue pushing in laps at each fold, running back and forth, dropping down to flick shapes around your embarrassingly soaked entrance. He gives, you grind against his mouth with encouragement.

"Please, oh fuck, I can't anymore," You hoarsely belt out, left leg unbalanced on the bed beginning to shake, ruffling the quilt all the more. "can you let me come?"

Rumbling laughter bumps your clit to match a hot breath. Jerome ends his torture with closing his lips around the bundle of nerves, sucking a few times, vanishing to a new position. It's then that you really notice him on his way up. What's against his stomach, hot, large, leaking at the tip. You've done this to him. He's glistening with you all over his mouth. You part your all too eager legs for him to fit between, his balls resting against your wetness in this position. You embrace his chest to press against your breasts, watching to see them smash under his weight. Jerome is kissing your neck, tilting your watching eyes away. His teeth bite so carefully, desperation behind them.

You're overwhelmed on max overload, your hand reaching down to grip his cock, thumb swiping that creamy white pre-come down his shaft to slicken him for you to pleasure. He's watching you with a growling under his breath. You start a back and forth stroke, trying to gauge his reactions, his breathing patterns. Finally, you give into your need for reassurance.

"Like this, Jerome?"

No verbal answer, just a vice grip to your naked ribcage that has you boosted into a sexually confident frenzy. You ease his cock right towards your clit, dragging it around and around the swollen flesh. You both attack one another with a fierce, open mouthed kiss, lips in a circle, breaths huffing into one another's mouths at the sensation. Jerome rocks into you, defined physique tensing. You notice those freckles are everywhere. _God, this reality_. You're ruined for life now. The fantasies will never ever compare again.

Jerome slides his hips in a compliant placement, making you think he wants something more than the main event. _A reciprocation, perhaps_?

It's not what he's after. What's more is how he can seem to sense your thoughts. He cups your cheek, breaking all movement.

"I know you want a taste of me too, don't you?"

You give Jerome a meek nod.

"You'll choke on my cock soon enough, princess. But right now I need to be inside."

"Okay. Inside me," You puff out, causing him to chuckle, leaning back.

You scramble to try to meet him, thinking he's done. He simply shakes his head, finger stroking your bottom lip. "Don't have a rubber on me. I fucking forgot. Do you have any around this dive?"

You thank fuck that your decision to try and have sex caused you to get on birth control as a  cautioned measure. You're giggling, pulling Jerome back down by his bicep. He frowns.

"You can come on my chest if you want?"

He feigns a gasp, underlying astonishment there. "Filthy girl. How should I have not known?"

"It's okay. I'm on the pill. I mean, as long as you don't have anything. If you're clean? Hopefully those cunts out there didn't give you anything." It all comes so fast, interchanging the subject line that Jerome has one red brow almost hairline raised.

"Jesus, Y/N, what do you take me for? My mother? Last thing I need is a bastard I make with some local ditz, or open sores--"

"Jerome, oh my god! Shut the fuck up! That's gross!" Is he purposely trying to kill the mood? Granted, you're both talking so much it's surprising it's not dead in the water already.

He derives a trademark snort. "You asked, dollface. I'm good. Always suit up before the big performance. Now, your turn?"

"I've only ever been with one guy. Two times."

There's a feral spark bolting across Jerome's features. He's shoving you onto your back, lifting your legs to rest on his shoulders. You're open wide, teeth gnawing your bottom lip, trying to breathe your way through this exposure. It's so good, yet so.... intimate.

"You've had a carnie cock inside of you then? Groupie, aren't ya?" He's snarling, pumping himself with a hand, the other roughly palming your breast, pinching the nipple, twisting it to the point your toes curl.

"Frederick, the ring leader's son. Only twice, he--"

You scream. Literally scream out into the trailer, right as a breeze lunges its way through the window, right as Jerome plunges his length inside you. It stretches you to tears, your jaw drops as you try and let yourself accommodate him. When he speaks it's not right away. He's gaining momentum in his ragged breathing. His chest pumps hard, making you slap a hand across it in favor of fisting the sheets. That red chest hair is a cover to the dusted, freckled skin below. Pale, creamy. He's soft, but already sweat drenched. You wrap your legs around the nape of his neck, letting your heels rest on his shoulder blades, feeling his body help him move inside of you. That's enough to wade in and welcome the pain his size carries.

He's surprised you're taking it so easily without the whimpering, the go slow pleas. It drives his hips deeper, his balls slapping against your ass. He throws back his head and sinks his milky white teeth into that plump red lip. You're a prisoner to the connection, unwilling to let your chains be severed. Your words fly free, sloppy, unguarded.

"This fucking hurts, fuck, I didn't think--"

"Shut your fucking mouth before I pull out and stuff my cock between your lips," Jerome barks out, his hand curling around your throat, wrist sliding against your clavicle with the loose grip. You only grin in response, your deposition steeled. He's claiming you with his body, whether he knows it or not. That carnie comment. You giggle aloud, lifting your ass to arch it off the bed as he pushes in, the angle hitting you deeper, resulting in your eyes literally closing to keep from the tears spilling out.

"SHIT!"

Jerome doesn't comment on your free form obscenities. He buries his face into your neck, these little sounds rumbling in his throat, whirling past his lips, getting lost on your now bruised skin. Your eyes close then open, focusing in on that red hair tickling your chin, the boy moving on top of you with a dipping back to calculate his experienced thrusts. That ass rolls perfectly into each one. It's all more than you could ever have known. Now you're fucked. Jerome is inside you in more ways than one. You've had the fantasy blown apart by the mind boggling reality, and you want more, fuck do you want it.

"Want you. I want you, Jerome. So much," You pant into his ear, shaking, legs sliding down his back until they're on either side of his firm hips, feet planted up on the bed.

Jerome jerks out of his cocoon in your skin, those green eyes still present to you beyond the lust blown color protruding it. He's looking at you now, just... looking. That hand that still rests lazily on your neck, tips across your skin. You don't flinch, but you fear. Have you gone too far? Emotions outpouring? You can't help to feel a little pathetic, thinking you ruined this all. A thumb brushing your cheekbone, paving a way down to your lips, cupping your chin, it breaks the fear apart like shattering glass. It suddenly shifts everything. The air blows in, blanketing you and the ginger, covering you in moonlight. The song changes to one entitled Captured. The lyrics cusp the atmosphere right as Jerome leans in nose to nose with you, his hand leaving your face for a moment to wrap your leg around his waist.

You do the same with the other, feet resting against his ass, his cock buried so deep you lick your lips to taste him, stretching, arching up with your breasts smashing against his chest. He descends towards you again, sticky foreheads, damp hair resting against one another. He says four words, four words that you'll never forget how he pronounces them so possessively, ravishing the word.

"Gonna come inside of you, gorgeous. You want me to?"

You've wondered how it feels to have that with someone, how it'd be. Weird, warm? You want to laugh at yourself, at the absurdity of your inexperience, but you don't, not with the way those eyes are so soft on you. Like it's okay, like the choice is yours, either response the right one. You know what you want, you don't have to think on it. You wrap an arm around Jerome's neck, bringing him as close to you as your bodies will allow. You nod, kissing at his Adam's apple, teeth scraping his chin, biting in his bottom lip before releasing it.

"Do it. I've wanted you to be the only one to. Please, let me feel it."

You whimper that last bit, so desperate all of a sudden to have him release inside of you. Jerome inclines his head curiously, giving you a few slow thrusts, and moves right back into it. Everything is in synch. This shitty day, this shithole circus. It all fades into a pathetic backdrop. Your breasts are gripped by Jerome's upper body each time he moves, your legs wound around his, their mission clear to not let go, not even when it's all over.

His cock nudges that place inside you that your fingers can never quite reach, and you grip his wrist, shoving it between your bodies, using his hand to palm your clit in circles. He cocks a red brow, his nose nudging yours, his red hair tickling your forehead.

"Need it to help me come. Still hurts having you inside," You pant, Jerome's eyes widening, but agreeing, getting the idea.

He flicks his thumb in a circular motion each time he pulls out, then pinches your clit upon shoving back inside. You're there, eyes fluttering closed, breath stuttering on the way up your lungs, heartbeat floating around in your ribcage, pulsating wildly.

"I-I. Jerome, yeah, puh-puh-lease," You plead, shaking, tears nudging the corners of your eyes with the intensity. Jerome thumbs them away, swiveling his hips to rub at that spot, lips at the hollow of your throat.

"It's alright, Y/N. Come all over my cock. Show me how much you've wanted to. I've got you, gorgeous. I'm right here."

You do. You fucking unclench your muscles, jaw going slack, squeezing around Jerome's dick, the tears finally escaping your eyes. You scream again, holler into the night, your nails clawing into Jerome's back until you feel the skin break apart under your hold. This spurs him with an opened mouth, daunting eyes, he fucks into your pussy hard, driving you up the bed, no time to recover. He drapes himself over you, no space between slick bodies, eyes on yours, so vulnerable, his mouth open, guttural mewls shredding his voice as he comes, that feeling warm inside you, rare. You gasp, holding him protectively to you. He's yours right now in this trailer, in this fucking moment.

He winds down, spent, breathing hard he nuzzles your breast, pressing a kiss to the top of one. You cradle his head, fingers running through the sweaty, auburn mess. He hums appreciatively, easing out of you with amusement at your wince. That's when your glow fades. Your stomach lurches, shying away from the previous contentment. _He's going now, isn't he_? You lay there for what feels like hours, but is pathetically a mere fifteen seconds. Jerome is raising up, looking at the trailer he lives in across the way, before looking back at you with a knowing smirk.

"Fuck," You breathe out in a giggle, slightly relaxing.

"Such a Valeska groupie, aren't ya, Y/N?"

"Meh, maybe I'm a gingers only cockslut?"

This causes him to full on laugh, snorting, he bends over your body to fish out your stolen pack of cigarettes, lighting one on the candle beside your head, blowing the first drag out into your face. He's rolling onto his back, offering you a hit, making you have to hold down your excitement at his choice to not wham bam and thank you ma'am-you.

"I've never came in a girl before, without having a raincoat on. Fucking crazy move, on my part."

You frown, chewing on your top lip. "Then why did you, Jerome?"

"Because it's you," He says as if it's some key to every world secret, his eyes alit in this far away realization that only he seems to know. Moments later he's turning his head to look at you, searching your face. "Those other girls earlier. And I saw you. I always see you. Why would I want to go anywhere near those stupid cunts when the cunt I want was just around my cock?"

You're speechless, airy with a giddiness you can coast across the ocean on. _Fuck, this is a dream, isn't it_? You're smiling, causing him to roll his eyes, telling you not to get too caught up. But then he overrides himself by ending round one with a question.

"You're staying all night with me tonight at my place, I'm keeping you."


End file.
